


Narcissism & Hubris

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 'love', Blood and Violence, Hubris, M/M, Narcissism, Obsession, Sensual horror, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Abraxas is Narcissism. Tom is Hubris. They complement each other like blood and snow.





	Narcissism & Hubris

**Author's Note:**

> I'm calling this a character exploration because otherwise, I don't have a clue what this is

I  
Abraxas is Narcissism and Narcissism is white, he is beautiful, a perfection that people thought was impossible to achieve but would always strive for. But Abraxas isn’t kind, his soft hands will strangle you if they have to. He’ll spin a thousand spiderwebs if it means getting what he wants. He’s cruel like that, perfectly willing to use people because people are nothing compared to him. Abraxas knows that he is hypnotic, that people will die for him to give them a second glance, will die from despair when that glance inevitably strays elsewhere. He is painfully pretty and painfully perfect, a wonder, a star that shines brighter than all the others, a collective fantasy, the passage to the next world. The bringer of dreams that never come true, a sickness that lingers in the air long after he is gone. Abraxas is classy, suits tailored with precision to show of the faultless angles of his body, indulgent hands with pretty rings that show he hasn’t and will never have to work as common men do. He has flawless smiles, but he wears cruelty like a crown. Abraxas was born with the world at his feet and a silver spoon in his mouth. He knows sophistication like an old friend, confidence comes naturally to him, there is stubbornness behind his eyes, although he doesn’t let it show. He is a monster that looks like a dream, a beautiful, hope-inspiring dream. Abraxas’ hands are always cold, he is merciless, he takes what he wants from all those foolish enough to give themselves, leaves them feeling empty and cold, unfulfilled and aching for more. They are weak in his presence, but they never sate his need, never satiate his demand for beauty, his never-ending search for an exquisite sickness that could rival himself. Those so far beneath him, they worship him, but they do not understand, they want to be used but so does he. Abraxas wants someone to truly show him how wonderful he is, he wants someone who thinks they can break him, ruin his pretty face and decay his soul. He wants someone to take him to the edge of every limit and then fling him off with a smirk. He wants a creature so rotten, that the sweet stench of their body will be forever ingrained in his skin. Forever reminding him of what he’s done and how good it felt to do it. 

II  
Tom is Hubris and Hubris is red, powerful and palpable like a flower in full bloom. Tom is menacing, full of flavour, rich and raw. He is a monster that knows he is above mortals, knows that mortals have no place by his side because he is so much more than flesh and blood. He is a god, an empyrean wonder, that everyone so desperately wants to become. Tom isn’t afraid to tell people what he wants, isn’t afraid to place his hands on their shoulders, touch them, taste them, bleed them, until they understand how the world really works. He likes to teach people how corrupted their perfect world is, the fraudulency in every smile, the dishonesty in every promise, the monster that lurks beneath the skin of every angel. One day Tom will rule the world, drown it in his horror and mould it in his image. One day he will make everyone see what a spectacle he is, a star burning up the sky. He is a storm swirling, devouring everything until the world is as empty as his soul. Tom is foreboding with cruel hands and sickening smiles. Those who want him, always regret it afterwards, regret offering themselves so completely, regret offering everything because now they are worthless. Tom is always hot, a fire raging just under his skin, his fingers sear prints forever into innocent thighs, his tongue is always burning, branding vulgar patterns on everyone’s necks. There is a violence inside him, an intensity he doesn’t understand. Tom wants to understand the lowly mortals, so he uses them: runs his teeth along their necks, nails leaving half-moons at their wrists, there is always blood, their pathetic mortal blood; he is convinced he does not bleed the same as mere mortals. Instead, allure drips from him like candlewax, he is intriguing, an indulging mixture of magnetism and eroticism. They fall at his feet begging for salvation, his eyes always too dark for them to see his intentions, mind too quick for them to understand. They love him, and they fear him, torn between wanting him to consume them and to save them. But they are boring, too needy, too desperate, Tom needs someone who knows their worth, someone who is so conceited they never question themselves. He wants someone as beautiful as they are dangerous, a sickness disguised as a miracle.

III  
When they laid their eyes on each other they stop, time slows, and they finally understand the enormity of existence. Abraxas is as pale as a ghost, spirit-like, innocent as falling snow but as dry as white wine. Tom is rich as the earth, dark and full, bitter as chocolate but sickly sweet like summer wine. Destiny had tied them together then, and it would have been rude to deny such an attraction.  
They couldn’t stop noticing each other after that, every glance, every movement, every touch was painfully obvious. Between them hung something so profound, they couldn’t articulate it. Their thoughts flowed as one and when their eyes meet across the room the air becomes heavy, suffocating, choking everyone who dared come between them. When Tom first smiles it is intoxicating, so tainted with dishonesty and decadence and depravity. Inviting Abraxas to do such terrible things, vile iniquitous things that would cement his name in history. He lures him into the dark, but Abraxas knows exactly where he is going, he has trodden this path before.  
Soon everyone sees Abraxas’ hands are stained red, the sins of Tom are smeared all over him. Bloody lips at his neck, cold hands soaked with transgression. Body not so perfect anymore, now that it is so stained with shadows and wicked smiles. But Tom is the same, the white fingerprints are all over him, refinement runs closer to the surface now. They show each other their sins and everyone else sees their beauty. They are monsters that everyone desires, rotten creatures that offer people salvation for appalling favours. Where once they hunted alone, now they find their prey together. Always extraordinary individuals that no one believes will ever fall. They always do. None can hold out against such attention, such devotion, such consecration as they offer incessantly. Abraxas is a great flatterer and Tom is a great seducer. They drain their victims and then cast them into the wilderness, blind to the world now that they have seen the gods. They laugh at the weakness of mortals because they know they are deities trapped on temporal soil, they are beautiful and refined and delicate. They are immortal angels whose names will live on forever. They are unstoppable when they have each other by their sides.  
Abraxas makes Tom beautiful, reflecting out only the prettiest parts of him. Tom makes Abraxas powerful shows how to dazzle people’s purses, how to make them do exactly what he wants. They entice each other, Tom pulling Abraxas into the dark he knows so well; Abraxas pulling Tom into the blinding lights that can be just as deceiving as the dark.  
Their friends start to take a back seat to their devotions, where once Lestrange would have entertained Tom for hours, he has no appeal anymore. The fire in his heart has been dulled and he joins a string of broken hearts that will forever line the corridors that Tom walks. Rosier is the same, where once Abraxas’ eyes could scarcely be drawn away from his devotee, now his eyes rarely settle on him. Their friends ignore their own isolation, their masters will come back, when their latest venture into the dark is fruitless, they will return anxious for someone to settle their restless hearts, they will return to all they have known and all they have loved.  
Except they don’t. 

IV  
Perhaps it is only natural they should seek out each other in the dark nights. Undressing each other like they’ve never done such an act before; hands unsteady, fingers shaking, lips trembling. Mouths tasting what has always been forbidden, hands exploring what they’ve always dreamed of finding, a being that is so horrid, so appalling, so much like themselves. Their hands do not fumble and their lips do not hesitate, they only press on with infinite precision, bodies merging into each other, taking exactly what they want until, finally, their mouths stumble, unsure for the first time whether this is what they truly want. Their faltering eyes gaze at each other: one pair as dark as overripe mulberries, the other shockingly pale, like tinted glass. That moment seems to last for eternity, a thousand years pass between them, a thousand possibilities for their existence. They know then, they cannot exist without each other, not anymore, not now their appetites have been wetted, not now they know what vile horrors lurk in their bones. They are content to be monsters in a world filled with angels and no one can ever change that.  
Their bodies fit together as if they were made for each other: fingers slatted together, mouths against necks, hips aligned. They can feel their hearts beating as one, feel each other’s ribcages and knowing deep down they want to climb into the other’s body. Knowing they want to taste every unthinkable part, dip their hands into pools and run stained fingers down their throats. Slide their tongues into every hollow and along every sharp edge until their tongues are bleeding, and then they want to bleed together, blue blood blending with red, creating a behemoth so abhorrent none have ever thought it possible. Their hips rock in unison, bones sticking into the other’s flesh, feeling more like humans than either of them have before. Their breath ragged, so caught up in the urge, the anthropological need to be satisfied, to have each other, bodies on bodies until their colours are mixing, mingling, blurring together. Their whole world is stained the purest pretty pink like raspberry juice on sugar. Their love, if anyone could call it that, is so sticky, so sickly, so saccharine and they love it. They love the sweetness on their tongues and the burn in their throats and the horror in other people’s eyes. They love having someone with them, on them, inside them. Someone to play with, toy with, someone they can never break, no matter how hard they try. They love having someone that is as much of a monster as they are.

V  
The next morning everyone knows, they know because it is so obvious, the once superficial stains now run deep, embedded into each other’s skin: smeared handprints everywhere than anyone cares to look. The way they look at each other has changed, and in their touches, there is what has not been there before. Abraxas’ smile is darker, and Tom’s eyes are brighter. There is an electricity flowing between them. They are smothered in an intimacy, and they reek of a familiarity that none of the others can explain, a vile tenderness that invokes as much disgust amongst their friends, as it does them longing to be a part of it. No one can understand why they themselves want them so badly, cannot comprehend why they want to be torn apart by such beauty, but they do, oh how they do. There is something brilliant in knowing what true horrors lurk behind someone’s smile and the mortals think they know. Perhaps they do, but more likely they are charmed with the pretty faces, enamoured with the gazes they give each other, hypnotised by the secret touches Abraxas shares with his Tom and enthralled by the secret kisses Tom shares with his Abraxas.  
It is horrifying to see two monsters so content in their imperfection, but it also so beautiful to see such a twisted love bloom. Their perverse attraction redefining everyone’s opinion that love is always virtuous. Their love is an infatuation, an obsession that even they don’t understand, a distorted passion that has everyone permanently on edge; scared that any second the horror will spill over and infect anyone who dares get too close. It restores all the lost faith in love, the belief that some people are undeserving is obliterated, there is someone for everyone, no matter how horrifying your desires, love can blossom when it is fed with the right disease.  
But they are still monsters wearing human skin, creatures whose hearts are perverted, sadistic things, but whose faces are cut from glass. Their bodies are wet dripping with exotic colours, baptised in a kaleidoscope of sins but their breath is sweet, and their hands are gentle, at least until their prey is in too deep, too immersed in the phantasmagoria of their existence to deny them what they want. Then they are cold and cruel, brutal and vicious, and yet so devastatingly beautiful, so beautiful that no one can believe they are capable of such indescribable acts. They are spiders, spinning their silver webs, waiting for mortal flies to fall under their spell and they all do, everyone does, one way or another. No one can resist Abraxas’ pretty smiles or Tom’s indulgent hands. No one can resist Narcissism’s charisma, and no one can resist Hubris’ magnetism. They are irresistible because everyone wants a taste of perfection, a chance to be with gods; everyone will ruin themselves for beauty, ruin themselves to feel wanted, needed, desired. Everyone is weak, venal, corruptible, so is it wrong to give them exactly what they want? Wrong to let them drown in desire? So submerged by perfection until they are screaming to be free? Abraxas sees no crime in it, neither does Tom, mortal lives mean nothing to them because they are so much more than mortal. They are perfect enduring angels that will drag any mortal with them to the deepest nadirs of damnation. They are Narcissism, as white as marble, and just as cold, and they are Hubris, as red as blood, and just as delicious.


End file.
